


Lead Paint

by kytt3n



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Angst, Character Death, I'm not exactly sure what sort of kink Androids/Humans fall into so, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kytt3n/pseuds/kytt3n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A response to a Homestuck Kink Meme prompt for Dirk/Android!Dave, in which Dirk falls in love with a fully human-looking robotic Dave of his own creation. </p><p>Rated for future sexy times and impending angst. This will probably be wounding of feelings, so it is not for those who don't prefer angst , or those  searching for sweet, plotless, or mindless smut.</p><p>Prompt can be found here:<br/>http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/38154.html?thread=38893322</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lead Paint

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dedicating this story to Kit and my wonderful moirail, Jen, who are my strength and inspiration. Without their love, I'd probably still be sitting here with another unfinished story left in my drafts. Thank you so much for existing. I'm really just amazed I actually started this, even with such lovely encouragement.
> 
> I'm also sort of sorry, because most likely, this fanfic will probably hurt your heart, as it has hurt even mine in the process of planning these events.
> 
> Thank you for reading my first attempt at a fanfic! I'm hoping to improve my editing process as time goes on, and this is an ever nit-picky work in progress.

Dirk was his the moment those eyes fluttered open and flashed that incandescent red. Perhaps it was something of mere shock that his creation lived, with that gaze so lifelike with a face so fragile and soft. He held a striking, human-like quality, even with his synthetic features and crafted thoughts, his chest rising and falling with even breaths that came easier than his own. The way he blinks, cherry irises curbed with a light as his thoughts spun their own webs, pausing a moment to calculate him and grasp at his bearings, his lips pressed down in confused thought. Something in Dirk rattles and shakes away what he knows is truth, and it’s gone too soon to get up and chase after it.

If Dave had decided to smile in those moments, Dirk knew it might have been easier to put aside his feelings and keep the breaths he’s taking even and not lodged in his throat in a rock-like lump. Maybe there might have been a chance to convince himself wrong about all of this, even in just the closest corners of his spinning mind. Wasn’t this supposed to be his own legacy where he held his own pen to his memoirs? A person wasn’t supposed to unravel and gasp and clutch nearly at his own shirt and the chair to breathe correctly because with a look, the breath is knocked out of them. When you smiled, you weren’t supposed to feel as if you were swallowing cotton balls and wonder if the words too busy in your head would even bridge your own lips.

It was never meant to be this way.

His gaze wasn’t supposed to widen in surprise, and his eyes weren’t supposed to follow his movements as he sits up, clutches the fabric of the sheets underneath him, noticing that they bundled, red and orange, clenched up between his fingers. Confessions should not have died on his lips, his plans shoved into some long-forgotten, mental filing cabinet to collect dust and slam shut to never be touched again anytime soon. Months of work turns into a sturdy jaw, lazy gaze, and lean figure, the air of a brother swimming in the space between them without anything needing to be said. Suddenly, Dirk is extremely glad that he had put Dave on the bed instead of leaving him on the table like he did with most of his projects, because he didn’t want him to feel like a robot, feel like spare parts thrown together and slaved over and wire twisting within synthetic muscle. 

Seconds tick off on the clock on the wall, and they just look at each other a long time, older brother studying a younger brother who is wrecked beyond his own comprehension, both waiting for the other to speak or approach some sort of subject as the other waits in a long span of awkwardness. Love pound in the mechanic’s chest, and it takes everything his is to not grit his teeth and lose his coolness. Even without the shades, Dave’s stare was piercing and more than ironic and provoking, flawless in execution where it buries into Dirk’s own mind with red burning coals, chips at his resolve. What was he supposed to say? Breathing was a problem, each and every intake a weight that almost choked him.

_I can’t handle air, what makes you think I can handle you or this?_

With a swift movement of his foot, Dave is quirking an eyebrow and folding his foot over his slacked knee, folding his ever-so practiced hands out and clasped together, draped over his leg with ease, shoes polished like they always had been. The smile on his lips curls the corners just like they always did. His voice is even smoother than the sweetest of soft-serve ice cream, lingers longer than saltwater taffy on the palate to Dirk’s awaiting ears. “A nurse, what a lovely surprise. When did you fly out of the ambulance to snatch me away from my flight? Little man, you’re too kind. You don’t have to reciprocate when I carried you on my shoulders.” 

Dirk hesitates slightly longer than he’d like to admit, a second too long for him to brush off to save his own pride. “You’re the one tends to arrive home exhausted. I was only trying to look after my ‘oh so beloved’ brother. I’m assuming you’ve come upon a break in your career?” His voice sounds unsurprised, monotone, and almost bored. “Don’t tell me, it’s all over the news.”

“Is it, now?” The man is amused, prided in the knowledge as a grin slides over his lips, cocky. The man couldn’t have looked more pleased if he had taken over the world.

“Yes. I wasn’t aware that three years away would make you too high up on your pedestal to watch television of your own accomplishments. You can’t honestly tell me that you don’t have all of that DVR’d.” The elder waits patiently for Dirk to quit beating around the bush, looking at the leather gloves on his hands and quirking an eyebrow as he sighs in turn, running his fingers over his arm as he chews his lip inwardly. “…I missed you.”

He sounded, looked, and responded just like his Bro would, a flicker meeting his gaze before he awkwardly sits there and watches Dirk’s gaze broken from his own, processing what he said and unable to retort with anything sarcastic to break the appropriate air of the situation. He doesn’t find the right words to respond, and as the air thickens and Dirk begins to fret and almost leave his brotherly creation in the room by himself. Pale, fidgeting fingers move to push him out of his computer chair and his gaze flicks up to see Dave’s arms open, words catching in his throat. 

Was this normal? Was this something Dave would do? 

He can’t process anything other than the man standing taller than him, lean and holding his arms out, before he pushes himself up and into his arms with a quick step, a shaky sigh leaving his lips. He smells like his cologne, and it’s a familiar, a warm scent, and it makes Dirk’s hitch. He aches to bury his face against his chest every second he gets a chance to, but with the current hesitation, he’s beginning to rethink his movements, trembling softly against him because he can’t help it, a mere child. 

His lips quiver more than he does; his breath is razor sharp in his lungs and held much longer than it usually should be. There’s a long moment of awkwardness as Dave doesn’t move very much in response, an awkward moment where Dirk is hesitant, small, and lonely like he had been the past three years. Sure, the kid had friends, but he’d distanced himself throughout the years, becoming to feel guilty when he had little to say outside of his silent thoughts and physical support of him being in the same space when things happened and upset them. Every so often, he’d say yes to one of Roxy’s attempts to reel him back into the group, but away they went, molding and changing and evolving their relationships without him, which was alright with him, because he had no energy, and that’s not what he wanted.

What he wanted was this.

He can’t find himself letting go, no matter how much he wants to make sure his brother doesn’t frown down at him, but when he brings up his arms from his lower back, Dave’s pulling Dirk closer, his gloved fingers working through his downy locks with quick, warm strokes. It feels so nice, it feels so comfortable, resting against his frame and breathing his scent and feeling his fingers and gloves and that breath ghosting over his forehead, warm and soft. It was almost a dream, and Dirk can’t take it, unraveling in his arms, crumpling under his presence and grasp.

His breaths come hot and fast and sharp as he loses himself and completely unloads as his mind spins, and the only stable thing in his life is Dave and he can only pray that he doesn’t push him away. His fingers slide against that pressed, crisp jacket, feeling the contours of the fabric under his fingers, and how perfect it is. How much he missed it. His jaw tightens and he tries to hold it all back, even as Dave’s hands settle around his middle in a loose, comforting, brotherly hug. It breaks something within Dirk that makes his eyes well up in tears, spill out onto his lashes, and further onto his cheeks. It chokes his insides and fills his throat with dread, until he’s chewing on his lip and clutching black cloth, knees buckling.

He only catches himself enough to bury his face into Dave’s shirt; that unsoiled, soft, stupid, Egyptian cotton dress shirt. He was unloading and crippling against such an asshole that could never care enough to be around, or call, or would just leave with a scrawled note left on the counter for months on some stupid business trip to put food on the table and could never say he’s sorry when he does leave without a trace and never comes home and is just so _full of disappointments and heartache._

But he was here, and that was okay. He was here, and he let Dirk fall into him, orange eyes bleary with tears as his mind is stupid and he hurts in every crevice just because he’s home, that he’s here, and he’s him, and he’s acting just like Dave would, and his touch is soft, and he smells like his cologne. He smells just like his cologne.

Dave says nothing even as his shirt dampens, as Dirk’s fingers grasp and clutch at him, bury his nose into his chest and pull at him and unload his stresses onto his figure. He doesn’t push him away or say anything when he shakes and struggles to breathe, undoes and falls into his weight, which holds firm. He knows that it’ll last a while, so he scoops him up into his arms and takes him over to the bed where he had been lying only a bit earlier, sitting with him in his lap, cradling him as he lamely ruffles his shirt in his fists and sobs choked breaths. 

He isn’t aware of how much time passes, and the words that are breathed from the younger are hard to understand, so he doesn’t press it, doesn’t say anything about his younger brother, because he knows he’s been gone too long. He allows him to fall asleep in his arms _just this once_ , because he feels like shit, and Dave feels like shit for making him this way, and he can’t find himself pushing him away and out of his arms and wrap him up in the sheets alone again.

Although he’d already been sleeping, he lets Dirk pull him down to join him, fingers unwilling to let him go, feeling him curling up against his figure, warm and safe as his whimpers subside. Only when he’s asleep, does he reach out to wipe the tears from his cheeks and brushes damp, deflated blond spikes from his face that finally finds peace, his lips pouted in sleep and no longer taught.

He only lets go of his held breath when he’s sure that Dirk’s asleep, shoulders falling as a soft nuzzle and breath leaves his guilt filled, manufactured lips.

“I missed you, too, little man.”


End file.
